The Cottage Ch. 02

"Allo! Allo! Allo! What's a nice girl like you doing in place like this?" uncle Steve said in his best cockney accent to the young girl.

Steve had silently unlocked the front door of the cottage and carefully removed his shoes before padding over to the bedroom door where Michele was still preoccupied looking at herself in the mirror. She was currently holding up her skirt admiring how good her red satin bikini panties looked over the gusset of her sheer to the waist pantyhose. Her tummy was flat and her pubis and legs fully shaved. Her semi-tumescent penis was safely tucked between her legs and her panties fitted snugly creating a nice red V framed by her thighs.

"Jesus!" Michele yelped and spun on her heels.

She stood in front of her uncle, still holding her skirt above her waist; her mouth wide open but speechless with shock.

"Nice view," Steve smiled at the pretty young thing standing in front of him.

Michele dropped her skirt and smoothed it out nervously as she realised who it was that was standing before her. The question was did Steve recognise his nephew?

Michele's mind was in turmoil; it was obvious that uncle Steve had not recognised who she was and was also of the opinion that she was a woman. She tried a bluff.

"I'm Michele," she replied.

Mike's voice had broken but it was not particularly deep; it sounded like a low-pitched woman's voice, mature and smoky.

"Well Michele, what the fuck are you doing here?" Steve asked, he glanced at the lingerie and women's clothing scattered on the bed and the makeup arranged on the vanity table.

Michele had to think on her feet and come up with something plausible very quickly. Her story didn't have to be too complicated, just credible. She used the first excuse that crossed her mind.

"I'm here to meet Mike Harris," she replied.

Steve beamed. Well, well, well! His scrawny nephew had found himself a girlfriend. And quite a sexy one too! But there were still some questions left unanswered.

"And you decided to wait for him in a cottage in the middle of the woods dressed like that?"

"And practice doing what while you waited? Advanced skirt lifting?" he sniggered.

Michele was rattling her brain trying to figure out how she could get away from her uncle. Maybe he would leave of his own accord? Maybe she would be able to change back into Mike and get away on her bike? Jesus! This was such a terrible predicament. She struggled for a plausible answer to his question. Then she remembered watching him having sex with her mother while she hid in the closet. She knew what turned uncle Steve on.

"Well for your information Mike asked me to dress like this. He likes me dressed this way and I was just straightening out my underwear if you must know!" Michele decided to go the offensive.

Steve looked the young vixen up and down and breathed in her perfume.

"I bet he does. But I was watching you for a little while and you were putting on quite a performance there little lady," he replied.

"And I'm going to be staying here for a few days so it looks like you and Mike are going to have some company," he decided to back off for now and see how things developed.

"I'll take the other bedroom; I presume you and Mike are sharing this one," he leered at her.

"I'll get my things and unpack and then we can wait for Mike," he beamed and spun on his heels.

Michele's mind was racing. She had to get out of here or get rid of her uncle. She heard him open the front door and a blast of cold air swept through the cottage then she heard him mooching around in the adjacent bedroom. He must be unpacking his things she thought.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" she whispered to herself.

Michele eventually calmed down enough to deal with the immediate situation. She packed away the lingerie that she had scattered on the bed and hung up her clothes in the wardrobe next to Mike's jeans, shirt and jacket. She checked her makeup in the mirror and fixed her lipstick and put on a little more finishing powder; it was imperative that Steve not figure out that she was really Mike.

She decided to bluff it out. If she could see out the rest of the day she could make her excuses and retire for the evening. Once she was safely in her bedroom she could transform back into Mike and then he could emerge from the bedroom the next morning claiming he had arrived late, spent the night, and sent Michele home early. It was not the best of plans but it was the only one she could think of for now.

Michele was still not aware of how severe the snowstorm was that was that developing outside of the warm safe cottage.

Steve bought in two small suitcases and his rucksack and packed away his clothes in the second bedroom of the cottage. He went back to his car and bought in a cardboard box containing half a dozen bottles of wine, the same amount of scotch and a case of beer. The snow was building up around the hubcaps of his little car. He opened the boot and pulled out a tarpaulin and covered his car, tying it to the front and back bumpers. He looked at the darkening sky with consternation; this was going to be a pisser of a snowstorm.

After unpacking, Steve settled down in the main room of the cottage, which was a combined kitchen, dining and lounge room laid out in an open plan. The furniture had been provided by various members of the Harris clan and was a mixture of country cottage, seventies kitsch, and discarded brick a brack. He stoked the open fire and checked to see that the combustion stove was still burning. He could hear the hum of the generator and the electric lights were still working.

He eased himself into one of the overstuffed lounge chairs and sipped a beer while he scrutinised the Polaroids he had taken of Michele and contemplated his next move. The girl was quite attractive and some of her poses in front of the full-length mirror were close to pornographic. She had great legs and he loved the way she was dressed especially the short skirt, pantyhose and high-heels.

"You lucky little fuck Mike," he whispered as he flicked through the photos.

He cast his mind back to the time he had had sex with his nephew's mother in her bedroom. He hadn't fucked her but he'd performed cunnilingus on her through her pantyhose crotch and had fucked her nylon-clad thighs. He loved women who wore nylons; he had real fetish for them. He thought of how he had surprised Michele and she had stood there gob-smacked holding up her skirt so could see her knickers. He began to grow an erection. He looked out the window and watched the snow. If Mike didn't get here soon he wouldn't be able to get through the snowfall. Then he and Michele would be left alone in the cottage. He smiled to himself and rubbed his erection through his pants as he examined his Polaroids.

Michele reluctantly left her bedroom and made her way into the lounge. Steve heard her high-heels click-clacking on the floor and snatched his hand away from the bulge in his pants. Michele saw Steve sitting in big armchair drinking a beer looking at some small documents or pictures.

"So how long are you staying here?" Michele asked.

She sat down on the couch as demurely as she could in her short skirt. Michele had considered changing into something a little less revealing but the truth was this was probably the most modest outfit she had. She tried to pull the hem of her skirt further down but it still rested halfway up her thighs. She crossed her legs and smoothed out her skirt again. Steve's eyes were glued to her legs; he didn't even try to hide the fact that he was ogling her.

"Don't know honey; for a few days at least. Until my wife gets over her temper and lets me back home," he replied.

"She kicked you out then?" Michele asked.

She joined the dots; her mother running away to Majorca and uncle Steve getting booted out could mean only one thing. Aunty Joyce had found out about them.

"Why?" she asked.

Steve took a long pull on his beer and checked out the young hottie; nice legs, he liked her A-line skirt, little titties pushing out the front of her mauve satin blouse. Her hair was nice; straight and glossy. He liked her makeup and the nice touches; red painted fingernails; her red toenails visible through the reinforced toes of her nylons; the cheap jewellery and black high-heeled sandals. And she smelt delicious.

"Let's just say I had a hankering for something I shouldn't have," Steve smirked.

"So when's our boy Mike turning up; he better get wriggle on; its snowing like a bastard out there," he went on.

"Soon I think," Michele bluffed, "maybe later tonight."

"Then we will have to keep ourselves amused for a bit then. Want a drink?" he waved his beer in the direction of the kitchen.

Mike had stolen a few sly drinks before; in fact he'd gotten drunk a couple of times like most boys his age. What the fuck? He might as well have a drink; it might calm his nerves.

"Yes please," Michele smiled demurely.

"A glass of wine for the lady?" Steve smiled back and Michele nodded.

Steve went to the kitchen area and sorted out the drinks. While he was gone Michele looked over at the side table to see what Steve had been looking at when she came out of the bedroom. She leaned over and snatched up the Polaroids and looked at them. She was speechless. The photos depicted her in various poses in front of the full-length mirror. In quite a few of them she was holding up her skirt and posing provocatively. She didn't hear Steve return until he dropped down onto the couch beside her.

"That one's my favourite," Steve nodded at the picture that was currently at the top of the pile.

In the picture she was holding the hem of her navy-blue A-line skirt above her waist with one hand, exposing her red satin panties and her long legs clad in flesh-toned Pretty Polly sheer to the waist pantyhose. Her legs were spread wide and her other hand rested on her thigh, a red nail-polished finger pointing at her crotch. Her face was miming a kiss.

"Yes I do like that pose Michele," he offered her a glass of wine and when she took it, her hand was shaking.

Steve's fingers came to rest gently her thigh.

Michele shuddered and dropped the Polaroids on the cushion. Not only didn't Steve realise that Michele was a boy not a girl; he didn't know she was in fact his nephew.

Michele placed her hand over her uncle's and gently prised it from her thigh. She took a gulp of her wine.

"I don't think you should do that Steve; Mike wouldn't like it," she gently berated him.

Steve picked up the little pile of Polaroids and held out one of her holding up her skirt.

"But Mike likes this I bet?"

"You two must get pretty naughty up here hidden away from the world. I find it interesting that you would be dressed the way you are to meet your boyfriend; I figured a young girl like you would simply lie naked on the bed," Steve leered at Michele, his eyes travelled the length of her body and then locked on hers.

"What we do and how I dress has nothing to do with you!" Michele said petulantly.

"Well you say that; but what if I showed these pictures to Mike's mother? What do you think she might have to say about Mike dating a floozie?" Steve chuckled and his hand snuck across the gap between them and this time he gently squeezed her thigh.

Jesus! Michele was really worried now. What if his mother recognised that it was her son dressed in drag in the pictures? Even if she didn't recognise him, how would Mike explain his none-existent girlfriend to his mother? And oh my god; Charlotte would taunt him for months!

'Fuck! What am I to do?' she thought.

"Of course if you're nice to me; I'll never show these pics to Doris, Charlotte or even Mike. They can be our little secret," he grinned and squeezed her thigh again.

Then he relaxed his grip and began to softly stroke her leg; his fingers rasping on her sheer nylons in the quiet cottage. Michele was terrified but she had to admit to herself that it did feel kind of nice having someone stroke her thigh. She shook her head to rid herself of the thought.

"You saying no?" Steve had misinterpreted Michele's gesture.

"No! I'm saying what does being nice to you entail?" Michele answered.

"Well you can strike the same pose for me as you did in this picture," Mike smiled and dropped the picture of her holding up her skirt on the coffee table.

Michele had no choice really. She was alone with her uncle in this cottage far from anywhere and he was blackmailing her with the pictures he had taken of her posing provocatively. The only ace she held was that Steve still thought Mike was on his way here.

Steve was staring brazenly at where her skirt had slightly ridden higher up her thighs. She had great legs and he really wanted to play with them but he decided to acquiesce to her proposal for now.

Steve lifted his gaze from her legs to her face and smiled.

"Go on then," he whispered his voice thick with lust.

Michele swallowed the last of her wine, put down her glass, and got to her feet. She knew what Steve wanted to see; she had seen him fondle and hump her mother's legs. She figured that if she gave him a good show he might get horny and go to his room to relieve himself. Then she might have some time to work on her escape plan.

She had to admit to being somewhat flattered that she was attractive enough to excite a man; she had never really considered that she may be sexually attractive to men. She only dressed like this for her own pleasure.

"Go on," Steve insisted.

Michele took the hem of her skirt in both of her hands and slowly raised it up her thighs. Steve's eyes followed the hem and he gasped as Michele's firm thighs encased in the sheer flesh-toned pantyhose slowly came into view.

Steve growled as the first glimpse of her red satin panties become exposed and he reached out and ran his hands up and down Michele's thighs; his fingertips slithering over her diaphanous nylons.

"You said you wouldn't touch!" Michele protested.

"Oh, that's just too fucking lovely not to touch love," Steve cooed, stroking her legs from her calves to her knees.

"Show us yer knickers then?" he begged.

Michele decided that the Steve had seen enough; she didn't want this farce to go any further.

"I think you've seen enough," she said and began to pull down her skirt.

Steve reached out and gripped her hands firmly and pulled them away; he was not being violent but he was insistent. He let go of her wrist and lifted her skirt further up her thighs until the red nylon V of her panties just peeked from below the hem of her skirt. He then let go of her skirt and smiled.

"I think I'll decide when I've seen enough. If you want me to behave and keep my hands to myself just leave your skirt where it is!"

Michele baulked at what the Steve had just done to her. He was pleasant enough but it was obvious that he was now in control of the situation. What she decided to do was to let him have his way to a certain extent but she must not let him discover that she was really Mike. She exhaled and stood still, leaving her skirt hiked up and her panties exposed. Steve smiled at her again.

"Can I touch your legs? I promise I won't go any higher than your thighs," he pleaded.

Michele cringed; she was scared that any control over the situation that she might have had was slipping away.

"Just my legs; and just for a couple of minutes; Mike will be arriving any minute!" she bluffed.

Steve reached out and gently rested his hands on her legs. He slowly circled his fingers on her knees delighting in the feel of her silky pantyhose. Michele didn't find Steve's touch particularly unpleasant but she was worried about where this might be leading. She allowed him so stroke her legs and she could hear his breathing quicken.

Steve's hands caressed her calves and then he slid his hands up her thighs and squeezed the top of her legs. In the silence of the cottage she could hear the swish of his fingers dragging across her nylons and his breathing became harder and louder until he was almost panting. She stood still and let him paw at her legs hoping he would get so aroused that he would need to retire to his room and masturbate.

Steve took his hands from Michele's legs and stood up. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her towards him, breathing in her sweet perfume and gazing into her heavily mascared eyes.

Michele was revolted; the thought of kissing a man had never entered her mind. And kissing her uncle? The idea was preposterous! But of course Steve didn't know who she was; he thought she was a woman! She considered her options. She could let him kiss her and hope he went no further. She could tell him she was really Mike, his nephew, and try and deal with the consequences. She could refuse him; but the reality was she was alone in the cottage, miles from help and uncle Steve was a lot bigger and stronger than she was.

She decided to try to negotiate.

"You just keep demanding more and more things from me Steve; I'm sure your nephew would not approve of your advances towards his girlfriend!" Michele piqued; her hands on her hips.

"You keep on about the boy as if he's some kind of white knight who's going to arrive any second and save you! Have you even looked out the windows since you arrived?" Steve snapped.

Michele glanced out the window and saw the falling snow; it was an impenetrable white sheet; it had drifted up to the window ledge. She finally realised she was trapped!

"Ok love! You've got a deal. Just a kiss and a cuddle is all I want I promise," Steve replied and leaned into her and placed his lips on hers.

Michele could smell Steve's aftershave and felt his stubble lightly graze her face as his lips crushed hers. It was a strange sensation being kissed by a man, especially her uncle. She had to admit that she liked the idea that a man found her attractive but she felt no real desire and she didn't respond to the kiss. She allowed Steve to kiss her but when he pushed his tongue into her mouth her reflex action was to try to spit it out and break free of the kiss. Steve pulled her down on couch and pushed her back into the seat and forced himself on her.

Michele struggled to get free but Steve held her down and straddled her; his thighs either side of hers, his weight pressing down on her, holding her down as her hands beat against his chest as she struggled to break free.

"Get off me! Get off me you pig!" Michele whimpered

Michele could hardly breathe. Steve was heavy; his body was on top of hers pushing her back into the couch as he slobbered at her mouth and pawed at her thighs. She tried to scream but his mouth covered hers and all she could produce was a muffled gargle. She was panicking now, beating on Steve's back with her fists and drumming her heels on the floor. Then her panic changed to terror as she felt him fumble at his flies. She wriggled and writhed but she couldn't get out from underneath her uncle.

"Don't Steve; please don't! You don't know who I am and what you're doing!" she cried, tears ran down her face.